


Because Nothing Ever Ends

by Ariel_Tempest



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Artistic License, Cat, Fluff, Friendship, Gifts, Grieving, Housemates, Life Together, Lizzy Ellis, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post Series, Romance, Secret Relationships, Support, getting on with life, off screen character death, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest
Summary: After the death of her husband, Elsie must decide which direction her life will take.Some of the choices she makes surprise even her.Some of the choices other people make surprise her even more.
Relationships: Richard Ellis/Original Female Character, Thomas Barrow & Elsie Hughes, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 79
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Given current world events, I'm breaking from my self-imposed rule of not posting something until it's finished. I figure we could all use as many things to look forward to as possible. I will, however, not be posting a scene until the next scene is at least in beta. 
> 
> There are currently seven planned scenes, but two of them may be condensed. On the other hand, when I started there were three planned scenes, so anything could happen, really.
> 
> Thanks always to Hinny_B for betaing.

_April, 1932_

Elsie took her hat off and hung it on the rack with a sigh. The house was still and silent, the thin light filtering through the clouds outside to create a twilight atmosphere, even though it was still a good hour until tea time. Setting the small collection of parcels she’d retrieved from the post office on the entry table, she took off her coat, hanging it just below the hat, and walked into the living room. There was no reason for her to be there, really, but she stood looking around, mentally putting things in their place. There was the table by the window. There was Charlie’s wingback chair, just in front of the fireplace. As she walked around it, she almost expected to find him napping in front of the cold fire. 

“It’s been strange, since the funeral,” she said, reaching out and lifting the framed photograph from the mantle piece. It was six years old, taken on their first anniversary. “I suppose it simply doesn’t seem quite real yet. Mrs. Collyer at the post office asked how the funeral went and funny thing, I’d forgotten she wasn’t there. It seemed like the whole town was there, at the time.” She smiled, still touched by the turn out. “I hope I managed to do it justice, describing it to her, given all the fuss and expense Lady Mary went to. I can’t begrudge her wanting things her way, though. Not this time. You’d have thought it was His Lordship or Mr. Talbot who was gone, from the way she looked.” The image of Lady Mary seated in the front pew next to her parents and husband in head to toe black, her face pale and still, like some carved statue was as clear in Elsie’s mind as the photograph in her hand. The reigning queen of Downton had looked as if she were in another world, exiled there by the loss of a servant she’d known her entire life. “I don’t know how any of us are going to get along without you.”

She sat the photograph back in its place and stood, smiling fondly at the memories it evoked, when a knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. Curious, she moved to answer it. Mrs. Patmore had stopped past occasionally, both before and after the funeral, but she would be up at the house, putting the finishing touches on the servants' tea, and Daisy with her. Lady Merton had taken to stopping past now and again over the last few days to see if she needed anything, but the Mertons had left that morning with the rest of the family, on their way to Northumberland for two weeks. With no one to be expected, anyone would be a surprise. 

“Mr. Barrow,” she greeted the man standing on the door stoop with a smile. “I thought you’d be well on your way to York.”

Downton’s butler met her smile with one of his own. “Not yet. The train doesn’t leave for an hour. I’ve plenty of time to make it.” He glanced up at the clouds overhead, which were threatening rain and clutched his coat tighter, as if the buttons wouldn’t hold it closed. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Please do. Heaven knows I wouldn’t be sad for a bit of company.” With a smile, Elsie moved back, allowing Thomas to step into the promising shelter of the cottage. “You’ll have to forgive me for not having the lights on yet. I’d only just arrived home myself.”

“I don’t mind,” Thomas assured her. He made no move to rid himself of either his hat or his coat. “I’m just glad to find you at home, really. How are you doing?” he asked with an earnest expression that was quite endearing, as if they hadn’t both spent the better part of the morning together before the family had left.

“Oh, well enough, all told,” she sighed with a shrug. It took some doing, but she managed to dredge up a weak smile for him. “Some days are better than others, and I don’t know when it will truly hit me that he’s gone.”

Thomas nodded. “I could say the same. I know we, he and I, we didn’t always get along that well. I’m sure he gave you an earful on more than one occasion. Heaven knows I deserved it.” He gave her a shy, self-depreciating smile that she would have protested, but he kept going. “But it’s strange to think he’s gone all together. I’m sure he’d be surprised to hear it, but I miss him.”

“Believe it or not, he missed you, when you were gone away in Driffield. Admittedly, I’m not sure he could believe it himself,” she frowned a bit, trying to remember clearly. “And I’m not certain he’d have felt it so keenly had Mr. Molesley not left at the same time. But he did come to appreciate what he’d lost when you left, and I can promise you that absence did make the heart grow fonder.” 

“Absence or having to make due with too little,” Thomas replied with a playful smirk. Then, soft and muffled, something in the entryway squeaked. For a heartbeat, Thomas’s face froze, then he rushed on with the conversation, as if determined not to notice the noise. “I imagine the house is very quiet without him? That is, I’ve been noticing it up at the abbey a lot lately, what with so much of the staff living in the village. It’s so different than when I first came and half the men’s wing was occupied. So empty. A cottage must be worse, mustn’t it?”

Cautious, uncertain where this conversation was going, Elsie replied. “It is.” Something squeaked again and there was a brief bulge under the butler’s coat. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “And have you brought me someone to keep me company?”

“Oh, well, I…ah,” Thomas hedged in that manner he always did when someone caught him without an answer prepared. It happened less now than it had when he was younger, but he’d never managed to completely shake the habit. “If you don’t want her, that is, I think it’s a girl, I can take her with me of course. When I go into York. I’m sure the cats and dogs home can find her a family, but, well…” Releasing the death grip on his coat, he reached in and pulled out a small, multicoloured ball of fluff. The kitten looked around, blinking at the light and peering at Elsie as if she was something strange and alien. Then again, maybe to the kitten she was. “I was walking past the Fields’ old place, you see,” Thomas explained, shifting the kitten so it sat more comfortably in the crook of his arm, “And she was sitting all by her lonesome on a pile of old sacking. When I came, she tried to run off, but she got a claw caught and was kicking up quite a fuss, so I tried to help her out. Picked her up; she started purring.”

Smiling in earnest now, Elsie reached out a finger and rubbed behind the kitten’s ears. It pulled back, sniffing her finger insistently, then rubbed its head against her.

Hesitation gone, Thomas smiled at her. “My first thought was just to let her go in a barn somewhere, thinking her Mum must be nearby, but then I thought how Mr. Carson would have thrown a fit if he’d known I was getting fur on my suit, even if it wasn’t my livery, and, well, I thought of you.”

Carefully, Elsie lifted the kitten from Thomas’s arm. It was the size of her palm with eyes that were still a cloudy blue, but its ears sat upright and it watched her with avid curiosity. “Well, you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Elsie noted fondly, stroking the tiny head, then turned her attention back to Thomas who was finally hanging up his coat. “And thank you for thinking of me, Mr. Barrow. I’m not sure I know what to do with a kitten, since I’m still up at the house all day, but I can’t imagine she’ll cause too much difficulty, small as she is, and I will be glad of some company.”

“I’m glad I can do something,” Thomas smiled at her, brushing tricoloured fur from his jacket. He paused, then continued, cautious, as if afraid of overstepping his bounds. “You’ve always been good to me, whether I deserved it or not. If there’s anything I can do to return the favor, anything at all…”

Cupping the kitten against her so it didn’t fall, Elsie reached out and laid a light hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You’ve always deserved my help, even if I’ve not always realized it. Now, come in and have a seat, if you like. I’ll put on the kettle for tea.” Trusting that he would follow, Elsie turned and walked back into the parlor, stopping just long enough to turn on the lamp for a bit more light before continuing into the kitchen. There she set the kitten on the floor, fetched down a small saucer from the cupboard, and filled it with milk. As soon as it saw the dish, the kitten stopped examining the corner of the stove and came padding over on tiny feet to lap at the treat. Elsie smiled, charmed, and set about filling the kettle with water. Once the water was set to heating, she rejoined her guest.

Thomas hadn’t sat down. Instead he was standing in front of the couch, staring at the wingback chair, much as she had done earlier. He hadn’t visited often when Charles was alive. When he had, he’d rarely come as far as the parlor and never taken off his coat or hat. It was as if he’d been afraid the older man would see him as a threat, invading his territory. Then again, Elsie had often gotten the feeling, especially after the Royal visit in ‘27, that Thomas had felt that way when Mr. Carson visited the abbey, although he never said as much.

“I confess, I’m at a loss at what to do with this place,” she said, startling Thomas out of his reverie. “I know it will be an age before I can bring myself to sit in that chair.” She shook her head, then crossed to take a seat on the couch, gesturing for him to do the same. Instead, he drew one of the wooden chairs from the table and sat on that. “And I’m not sure I can bring myself to change anything in his room, even though I know he’s not coming back to it.”

“I’m certain no one would expect you to. After all, it’s your cottage.”

“It is.” With a pensive frown, she looked at the ceiling above her, imagining the cottage’s two bedrooms: hers with its large, four poster bed, where they had spent their intimate moments, and his with its more modest bed, not unlike the one in the butler’s quarters at the big house, where he had spent the night when she felt unwell, and stored his possessions. “Still, as you say, it’s been lonely without him, and even with my new wee companion, I doubt it will get less so on its own. I’ve thought of letting the room out. See if someone from the village needs a space of their own, one of the farm lads or shop girls. But I can’t imagine a stranger sleeping there.”

“No, neither can I.” Thomas frowned at the thought, paused as if considering, and then shook his head. “It’s not a bad idea, mind, but no. I can’t see staying in someone’s room, knowing…”

There was that, too. “I’m more concerned about finding someone who will understand what Charles meant to me. That he’ll always be part of my life, even with his not being here.” Her eyes once again found the picture on the mantle. “We were together so long.”

“Seven years isn’t a terribly long time,” Thomas frowned again, puzzled this time, his normally sharp mind missing her meaning.

“And how many girls married in 1914 were widows a year later?”

He conceded the point with a grimace and a sideways nod of his head.

“And Charles and I were together before that,” Elsie smiled. “We had over twenty years, all told, even if only five of them were as husband and wife in the eyes of God. We were still together.”

“I suppose you were at that.” 

The silence fell between them again, so complete that there was nothing to mask the pattering of light paws on the floor as the kitten entered the room. It sniffed its way along the wall, pausing now and again as something caught its interest, then toddled out into the center of the room. From the middle of the area rug, it blinked up at Elsie and mewed. 

Both of the humans smiled at it. Elsie leaned over, wiggling her fingers, and the small creature trotted over to sniff her, purring as she ran a finger down its back, smoothing the fluffy patches of black, orange, and white. “I suppose there’s time yet, to get used to the idea,” she noted absently. “Time to get used to all of it. At least now I won’t be completely alone.”

“You’ll never be completely alone,” Thomas promised. “Not while those of us at the big house are here. We’ll all be with you.”

“Thank you for that, Mr. Barrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, Andrew stopped by today and took a look at the wee one,” Elsie informed Thomas as he poured her a glass of after dinner sherry. Charlie had never been quite at ease with the idea of his wife sitting down to sherry with another man, even one who would never have been interested in her. She had argued that it was tradition and it would look as if she were snubbing Thomas if it was dropped, so it had continued anyway. Now it was a welcome excuse to lengthen her stay at the abbey. The kitten was helping, but nights were still the loneliest times. “He’s learned a thing or two about cats, being down at Yew Tree. He said she’s just old enough to be away from her mother, and it turns out you were right, she is a girl. I’ve decided to name her Petunia.”

Thomas chuckled at that, but only said, “She seems like a Petunia.”

“Of course, she got into my knitting yesterday and made a tangle of the wool. I suspect there will be all sorts of damage done before I learn how to keep her out of things.”

“And probably more done once she’s grown enough to jump up.” Thomas raised his glass in a mock toast, a knowing smirk on his lips, and took a drink. “Still, she’s keeping you good company?”

Elsie sighed, but smiled all the same. “That she is.”

Thomas hesitated, taking another slow sip of sherry, clearly weighing his words. “If you find yourself wanting more company, I’ve been thinking. About what you said the other day. About letting out Mr. Carson’s room.” He set his glass down and cautiously met her eyes. She doubted whatever he was going to suggest was really that horrible. “With the economy being what it is, and funds being tight, you might let one of the other staff members move in with you. Mrs. Patmore, perhaps. It would ease some of the house’s burden and get you some company. Two birds with one stone.”

“I doubt Mrs. Patmore would feel comfortable moving into Mr. Carson’s room,” Elsie replied, frowning, but not dismissing the idea. “And Jenny needs to stay here. She’d have a deuce of a time getting back up to light the fires in the morning if she didn’t.” The rest of the indoor female staff already lived out and Elsie wasn’t on close terms with the laundress.

“Same with the hall boys.” Thomas mulled the situation over. “What about Albert? He’s not needed before sun up, except in the winter, and it would give you a man around the house. A young man, admittedly, but it should help keep marauders away.”

“As if there are many marauders in Yorkshire.”

“You never know.”

“I don’t know,” Elsie shook her head, still smiling. Admittedly, Albert had always been well behaved as a hall boy, and she’d seen no sign of change when Andy had left to be a full time farmer, leaving Albert to fill his shoes as footman.. However, as Thomas had said, he was a young man, not many years over twenty, and she wasn’t certain she trusted that good behavior to continue once he gained a bit more freedom. “Do you think he’d use it as an opportunity to try and sneak girls into his room?”

Thomas half choked on his sherry. “Albert?” he sputtered, before composing himself with a rather tight smile. “I shouldn’t think that likely. He’s…not that sort of boy.”

“He’s not that sort of boy under your direct supervision. Who knows what he would be like with only me to watch him?”

Thomas’s smile twitched, as if he was restraining the urge to make a joke. In the end, though, all he said, very slowly and distinctly, was, “Right. I suppose that is a concern, isn’t it? Well then, not Albert either. I guess that puts paid to that suggestion.”

“I didn’t say that. It will take some careful thinking on is all.” She gave him a speculative look. “Of course, the butler doesn’t need to live in. We’ve already seen that.”

Glass halfway to his lips, Thomas froze, giving her a look that bordered on spooked. Times like this he reminded her of a feral cat, one that wanted to curl up by the fire, but had just witnessed a shower of sparks and didn’t want to get burned. “The butler?” he asked, slowly lowering his glass. “You mean me? Move into the cottage with you?”

“If you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind,” Elsie gave a little shrug. “As you said, it would be nice to have a man around the house, and I know I don’t need to worry about you sneaking in girls.”

He flushed, his eyes dropping to the table cloth. “I don’t know that Mr. Carson would approve of me moving into his room.”

“You’ve done it before,” she countered. “True, he’d simply moved out, but I don’t think he’s going to come back and haunt you now.”

“Perhaps not,” he muttered, sipping his drink, expression still unsettled. “Well, as you say, it will take some careful thinking.” He cleared his throat and managed to look back up at her. “Not to change the subject, but Miss Caroline was asking today. I gather nanny taught her about women taking their husbands’ name when they get married and she wanted to know why we called you Mrs. Hughes rather than Mrs. Carson. Lady Mary explained it to her, easy enough, but it got me wondering, should we call you Mrs. Carson now?”

“Oh, I don’t think it necessary,” Elsie gave a little laugh at the thought. “No one ever did, really, not even in the village. It’s as if everyone had thought of us as a pair for so long, they didn’t see any real change when we wed. “ She shook her head. “No, it would seem strange to change now, when he’s not here.”

Thomas nodded. “I just wanted to be sure.” He frowned, playing with his glass as if there was something he wanted to say, but wasn’t sure he should say it. Finally he said, “Speaking of hall boys, Paul put in his notice today. Says he’s gotten a position in a shop.”

The story was getting to be very familiar. Fewer of the junior staff were leaving for positions in other houses and more were going to shops and factories. It seemed strange, now, to think they’d been shocked at Gwen wanting to be a secretary. “And will his Lordship let us replace him, do you think? Or are we to do with two hall boys from here on out?”

“I don’t know. He won’t be over the moon, coming home to find the staff shrinking again, but I don’t know that we can afford a new lad, or if anyone would be willing to take the position.”

“It’s a sad state of affairs when a house like Downton Abbey can’t afford the lowest level of servants. Still, I can’t say I’ve not seen it coming for years.” She shook her head. “I just wonder how little we can get by on.”

Thomas grimaced. “We’ll find out eventually.”

Elsie eyed him with concern. He wasn’t much over forty, far too young to be thinking about retirement. “I’ve heard that many of the great families are taking their personal servants with them, when they sell their houses. I’m certain you’ve nothing to fret about, especially given how fond the children are of you.”

The grimace twisted into a grateful smile, although any actual hope in it seemed feeble. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I’m sure you’re right.” He forced his voice to brighten, his head held a notch higher in a show of confidence she doubted either of them actually bought. He picked up the sherry and topped off their glasses. “Still, in our best interest to keep everything running ship shape, isn’t it?”

“It is. And Paul leaving gives us all the more reason to think about having someone move in with me.”

“How so?” Thomas paused, bottle halfway back on the table. 

“Well, if there’s one less person living in the house, there might be enough for a new hall boy, mightn’t there?”

He mulled that over for a moment, grimacing. “That might make it worth risking Carson’s ghost.”


	3. Chapter 3

_September, 1932_

Elsie stood watching the water stream in curtains down the window, waiting for the kettle to boil. It had been a particularly damp September, but the residents of Downton had refused to let it dampen their spirits much. George Crawley, when informed that he’d have to make due with an indoor birthday party, had gamely proclaimed that eleven was too old for picnics and games outside anyway. His younger sister had, of course, been less understanding, but six year olds had less wisdom about such things. There had been a cake and presents. Lord and Lady Hexham had visited, Miss Marigold with them, and the Bransons had come as well, and in the end even Miss Caroline hadn’t been able to complain too much. After all, how could she when she’d been the only one still small enough for the butler to carry around on his back? 

The image of Thomas collapsing into his chair at the servant’s table, smiling despite being clearly exhausted and asking someone to pass him some tea, made Elsie’s lips turn up at the corners. He was more open with the staff these days, admittedly, but it was still rare to see him in such good spirits. Only the children could really manage it, and she could only hope the older children wouldn’t start considering themselves too mature to do so. 

The kettle on the stove started to whistle, punctuated by a far off roll of thunder. Elsie raised an eyebrow at the weather, then shook her head and moved the kettle from the burner. She filled the pot, then turned and walked toward the stairs. As she made her way to the second story of the cottage, she could make out sounds coming from Charles’s old bedroom. Here a drawer slid open, then shut again. There was a set of footsteps. She had expected to be caught off guard by such sounds, but she supposed she’d never fully gotten used to being the only one in the house making noise. 

The door to the bedroom stood slightly ajar. She knocked on it gently, then pushed past it into the room. “And how are we settling in, Mr. Barrow?”

The room’s occupant turned from where he stood in front of the wardrobe, apparently arranging his suits, startled for a moment, then gave her a satisfied smile. It was the same look he wore when Her Ladyship complimented him on a particular bit of planning or His Lordship approved an idea he’d come up with. “About done, I think.” He looked around the room. “I might move some furniture around as time goes on and I get a better feel for things, but for now, I think that does it.” He nodded, as if settling something in his mind. His satisfaction turned to a slight frown as he looked at the new bed. It wasn’t as grand as her own, but it was at least double the size of the beds up at the abbey, with a respectable wood frame. Petunia, still a kitten, but well able to jump up on furniture by this point, had curled up in the middle of the comforter and was taking a nap. “You’re certain it’s alright that I replaced the bed?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Really, now, why wouldn’t it be? This is your home, you can have a few things of your own. And what is the point of being out of the attics up at the big house if you still sleep like you’re there?”

He ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “True. But I know you didn’t want to feel like someone was coming in and pushing Mr. Carson out…”

“It will take more than a new bed to make me feel you’re ‘pushing Mr. Carson out’.” Elsie replied with a fond smile of her own. “Besides, if the bed were any smaller, you wouldn’t be able to get into it.” She nodded to the sleeping cat. “As it is, I hope she’ll share this one with you.”

Thomas gave the ball of fur, not much larger than a dinner plate, a bemused smile. “She can’t take up that much room, can she?”

Elsie rolled her eyes and huffed a half sigh. “You wouldn’t think so, dainty as she is, but she’s nearly pushed me out of bed a time or two. I don’t know how she does it.” The proclamation earned her a look that was half skepticism, half concern. She just smiled. He’d learn the truth of the matter soon enough. “At any rate, the teapot should be heated nicely by now. Fancy a cup?”

“Yes, please. Moving is thirsty work.” 

Together they headed back down to the kitchen. Thomas watched out the window as Mrs. Hughes poured out the water and added the tea leaves, leaving them to sit in the steam for a couple of minutes. “I’m glad there was a good day for the bed to be delivered,” he noted. “I’d hate to think of it being delivered in this.”

“I think if it had been raining this badly all week, you’d have had to put off moving. Or slept on the sofa for a few days.”

Thomas grimaced at the thought. “I’d sleep on the sofa, willingly, if the alternative was holding off on hiring a new hall boy. I think Ned and Davie are about to rebel.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them, even with Albert agreeing to help.” Elsie said as she reached into the cupboard to fetch down the tea cups. “Really, I’d expect Albert to be ready to rebel, the hours he’s been keeping.”

“Wouldn’t blame him either.” Thomas took over making the tea, pouring more water over the leaves, while Elsie fetched them both some biscuits from the tin. “There again, I think Lady Mary would have preferred it if he’d been the one moving in here, rather than me.”

Elsie sighed. “I think Lady Mary would have preferred that room stay empty as a shrine to Mr. Carson’s memory until the house fell into ruin,” she informed him, careful to keep her tone gentle. She understood why he felt that way. She’d have understood even if he didn’t have an unshakable habit of feeling unwanted. When they’d broached the subject of him moving out so that they could get another hall boy to the family, Lady Mary had looked at them as if they’d suggested sacrificing one of the children. _Into Mr. Carson’s room?_ Her tone had been enough to make Elsie feel almost guilty. After all, Lady Mary had mourned her own husband’s death for a full half year before emerging from her room and back into the real world, and went years more before finding someone to move into his place at her side. Suggesting that Thomas move in with her after a scant five months, well. That must have seemed very fast indeed. Heartless, even.

Before either of them could dwell on the subject, she changed it. “How is the search for a new hall boy coming? I’d hate to have the boys combing the papers despite everything.”

“Promising,” Thomas replied, his tone brightening. “I spoke with Molesley the other day.”

“Not Mr. Dawes?”

He shrugged off her concern. “He won’t mind my asking Molesley before him. He has enough on his plate. So long as I go to him for final consultation and to speak to the boys, that should do. At any rate, Molesley has a couple of suggestions for boys who might be interested, with a possible third, assuming he doesn’t go on with his schooling.” He paused, then added, “Of course, I think Molesley might be pushing him in that department. I always feel like he’s trying to live vicariously through them all.”

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” Elsie gave him a mildly reproving look. “After all, he was forced to leave school years before the current leaving age.”

“Perhaps,” Thomas shrugged, not phased by her disapproval. “But he’s in front of the classroom now, isn’t he?” Elsie turned the words over, looking for a hint of bitterness or jealousy that Mr. Molesley had found his way free while Thomas, for all of his attempts in his younger days, had never managed. There wasn’t any, so she let it drop. “Anyway, he said he’d talk to the third boy and let me know if he’s interested. Then I’ll speak with Mr. Dawes, arrange to see them all, and make an offer to the one I like.”

“And if he says no?” 

“Make an offer to my second choice?”

“And if they all turn us down?” Elsie pressed, far from easy on the subject. “Even among the farm lads, fewer boys are interested in emptying chamber pots in hopes of one day becoming a footman than in the old days.”

That actually got a grimace. “If they all turn us down, we hope the two we have hold out long enough for us to get an advertisement in the paper.” Lifting the tea pot, Thomas inclined his head toward the parlor, indicating she should lead the way. Once Elsie was seated at the table, he poured the tea into their cups and sat himself. For the first few sips they sat in silence, listening to the rain outside. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to all of this space,” Thomas finally noted, looking around the room.

Elsie gave a small scoff of laughter. “What space?” she asked. “There’s not a room in this house as large as the servant’s hall.”

“No,” he countered, “But there aren’t a dozen people crowded into it either. Makes things seem more open, and it’s definitely quieter.” He let his eyes rove around the room, pausing briefly on the mantle and it’s photograph. That was one thing Elsie wasn’t willing to do away with, and she trusted Thomas to know that. “I’ve not lived in a proper cottage before. Growing up, there were rooms behind the shop for cooking and talking, and above it for sleeping. It’ll be strange to have something like a proper home again.”

“Well, if it is to be a proper home, perhaps we should act like a proper family?” Elsie suggested, sipping her tea, watching him take stock of his surroundings. Better, she thought, to bring up the idea now while he was still settling than wait for him to get settled and disrupt things again.

He blinked at her, suddenly tense. “How so?”

“For starters, family members don’t call each other Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow,” she informed him. “When we’re at home, you might try calling me Elsie.”

He stared. For a moment she thought he’d refuse. His brows knit slightly and his lips formed the name silently, trying it on. “Alright,” he finally agreed, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips even though he still watched her like she might suddenly bite. “Then, I suppose if I’m to call you Elsie, you should call me Thomas.”

“That seems about right, yes. Thomas.”

The smile won out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely comments so far! Just a heads up, the next few chapters may be a bit slower to come, due to both my beta reader and I having sudden stress spikes in our lives. Going to try to avoid it, but there is a very real chance. In the meantime, I hope you all are safe and well.
> 
> Also, for those who are used to the 'toss tea bag in cup of hot water' mode of makeing tea, the method described here comes from the supplemental book "Downton Abbey: Rules for Household Staff".


	4. Chapter 4

_December 1932_

“Will you be home for dinner?” Else asked as Thomas wrapped his new scarf around his neck. They’d not discussed giving each other Christmas presents, but she’d surprised him with the scarf and he, in turn, had presented her with a locket. It was empty, and she wasn’t certain she’d be able to find a small enough picture of Charlie to fill it, but it was a lovely thought all the same.

“I doubt it,” he replied. “If I am, I can help myself out of the Christmas box. No need to set anything aside for me.” 

It was not lost on anyone that Downton’s adoption (or resurrection, Elsie couldn’t be certain) of the Christmas box containing left over food had begun the same time Charlie had fully retired. If anything, it was a bit of a surprise that it didn’t stop when he died. “Alright, then. I expect I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“I should be able to manage that, yes.” Thomas paused, searching her face with his eyes. “Are you going to be alright, if I stay out?”

Elsie wondered what had brought that question on. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He continued his scrutiny of her for a moment, as if judging his next move, then shrugged. “No reason, really. Only you’ve seemed a bit melancholy of late. First Christmas without Mr. Carson, after all. Stands to reason you might want someone with you on Boxing Day.”

“If I get too lonely, I can always go up to the house for a bit,” she replied, smiling at his consideration. “Jenny’s no place to go for the holiday, or Sam, and Daisy was going to come up and make a nice luncheon for them. And if dinner alone is too much, I can always turn in after I eat. A good night’s sleep cures many ills.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. “Good, glad to hear it.” He checked his watch and frowned a little. “Well, time to head for the station.”

Elsie checked her own watch. “You’ll be standing in the cold for a half hour if you leave now! The train is never that early.” Admittedly, it had been an incredibly mild December. There had been days earlier in the month she’d half expected the flowers to start coming in. But it was still December, even if it was sunny and not snowing, and standing outside unnecessarily would not appeal to most.

“Better that than to miss it,” Thomas countered. He flashed her a self-depreciating smile. “I really should finish learning to drive, in my copious spare time. Then I might make it back by dinner. Maybe.”

There was something off in his manner. His posture was stiffer than normal, but his eyes were restless, never quite holding hers. Any other day, she’d have said he was nervous about something, but what was there to be nervous about, going to meet a friend for Boxing Day? “Should you be going out at all?” she asked, bemused. “You’re acting a bit oddly. Are you certain you’re not coming down with a cold?”

“Quite certain,” he replied, too brightly. He made an obvious effort to relax his posture and smiled. “I promise, I’m perfectly well. Just anxious that I shouldn’t keep my friend waiting. That’s all.”

There was a hair’s breadth of a pause before ‘my friend’, as if he’d wanted to say something else. Elsie arched an eyebrow and allowed her tone to grow knowing as she said, “I see. Is he meeting you at the station, then?”

“No,” Thomas hedged. “Nearby pub.”

“Well then,” she continued, her tone unchanged. “He must be a very good friend for you to wait a half hour in the cold, rather than risk him waiting in a warm room with good food and drink.”

Neatly caught out, Thomas dropped his eyes, a shy smile, more in keeping with a young boy than a man of forty two, spread across his face. “He is, yes,” he allowed, still not looking at her, or openly acknowledging that they both knew what he meant by it. “And he’s not local, lives in London, so I don’t get to see him often.”

“It’s nice he made it out for Christmas, then. Does he have family in York?” Elsie continued to pry, gently. The smile was encouraging and she felt, if she could just work her way past that lingering nervousness, she would find something rare and precious that she’d never seen in him.

“He does. Parents.” He nodded, still not quite cracking, but now he was at least looking at her and there was a shine to his eyes that was entirely new. “And a couple of cousins, I think. He was with them yesterday and this morning.”

So he really planned on spending the whole day with this man, from luncheon onward? It was more serious than she’d realized. “How long have you known him, if I may ask?”

“A few years,” he admitted, then added, “Since the royal visit, actually.”

“The royal visit?” My, that has been awhile.” A memory tickled the back of her mind, not very strong or clear, of Thomas talking to a man in the servant’s hall. She’d not taken much note at the time, other than to think it was good to see him getting over his displeasure at being replaced so quickly. Now she wished she’d paid more attention. “This wouldn’t be the king’s valet, would it?”

“Second dresser,” he corrected, eyes once more firmly on the floor, a decided flush working across his cheeks. “His name’s Richard. Richard Ellis.”

Tired of having a conversation with the bridge of Thomas’s nose, Elsie stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders, encouraging him to look at her. “Richard Ellis,” she repeated the name, catching his eyes with her own and refusing to let him hide anymore. “And if I remember rightly, he was quite handsome.”

The only answer was a nod and a deepening blush. His smile had spread the width of his face, no longer shy or reserved, despite his obvious attempts to rein it in. The expression delighted her, and she tried to commit it to memory. Who knew how long it would be before she saw it again?

“I assume you’ve gotten him something for Christmas?”

“I have, yes.” Taking the opportunity to redirect the conversation, if only a little, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jeweler’s box. He opened it, revealing a pocket watch and chain. He held it out with a nervous sort of pride, as if her approval meant as much as the absent Richard’s. “It’s one Dad made, actually. Took me forever to track one down, but my cousin Nicky had broken this one, so he was willing to let me have it. He’d just over-wound the spring. Easy fix.”

“It’s a handsome watch.” Gingerly, careful not to leave fingerprints, Elsie lifted it from the box, taking a closer look at the fob. It was round and silver, with a crescent moon on it. “And that reminds me of the key ring you always carry.”

“Wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to find something that matched,” Thomas admitted, the pride in his tone strengthening with her praise of the gift. Elsie had always wondered where he’d gotten that key ring. Now she knew.

Setting the watch back so that he could tuck it back in his pocket, Elsie gave him her mildest look, not wanting to frighten him back into that shy embarrassment, and said, “You know, I understand that you have plans for this visit already, but perhaps the next time he’s in town Mr. Ellis could come for tea?”

The suggestion knocked the smile off his face, replacing it with a look of dumbfounded shock. “Here? You’d let me bring him here?”

“And why not?” she asked, shrugging. “It’s your house too. You’re allowed to have visitors.”

“Visitors, yes, but…that sort of visitor?” He was clearly unable to properly wrap his mind around the notion. “That is, you were worried about Albert sneaking in girls…”

“Albert is a good many years younger than you,” she countered. “And girls get in trouble. If you’d been seeing a girl for five years, I’d want to know why you’d not made an honest woman of her yet. As it is, I am well aware that you face different…restrictions than other men.” She reached up and picked a short, orange and white hair off of his lapel. “And so I will make certain allowances. At least I assume I can trust the two of you to be discreet and not do anything that would discredit any of us?” She gave him a stern look, although she already knew the answer. Each passing year saw Thomas more settled, and a member of the Royal Household was not going to start a ruckus.

“Of course you can,” he assured, promptly, the smile creeping back onto his face. “Pity we don’t have a phone. He can drive, we might have been able to have dinner together tonight, the three of us.”

“I’m certain he’ll want to see more of his family once you’re done catching up. I can’t imagine the royal staff gets more time off than we do here.”

“True.”

“Well, if you’re quite determined to freeze at the train station, I suppose I shan’t keep you any longer.” With a smile, Elsie stepped back and folded her hands primly in front of her. “You’re sure you’ll be home for breakfast?”

“We have work tomorrow,” he assured her. “I’ll be here.” With a nod he turned, still smiling, and headed for the door.

Elsie stood, listening to the barely audible click as Thomas left the house, still handling the door knob as if he were a footman trying not to disturb the family, and sighed to herself. Despite her earlier assurances, the house immediately felt more empty without him. She turned and walked to the mantle, pausing as Petunia walked between her and the fireplace, hopping up in the old wingback chair. “Well,” Elsie informed the cat. “It looks like it’s just us girls tonight.”

Petunia yawned and started to wash her ears.


	5. Chapter 5

_August 1933_

It was unseasonably warm. Elsie sat on the sofa, trying to read despite the fact it was nearly one in the morning and her eyelids were drooping. She wanted to go to bed, but the cottage was too hot yet and there was a refreshing breeze coming through the window that made her reluctant to shut everything up. Thomas had been battling a headache and had therefore, with some resignation, turned in as soon as they got home. Elsie had graciously overlooked his warning that he planned on sleeping in the altogether. 

Admittedly, while she couldn’t fully condone that sort of language in mixed company, even if one weren’t feeling well, she had to admit the idea had some merit. Even Petunia, who had spent as much of the winter and spring in front of the fire or in a lap as possible, was sprawled out on the cool stones of the hearth like a small rug. They could only hope that the weather broke before the Glorious Twelfth. 

The words swam on the page. Once she focused enough to read them, she realized she’d read the same sentence three times already. Closing the book with a clap, she sighed and set it aside, resigned to calling it a night. Hopefully the same cool breeze she’d been enjoying in the parlor had helped cool her bedroom. She closed the windows and was preparing to draw the curtains when a frantic, furtive knocking echoed through the house. She stopped, turning toward the kitchen with a frown. Petunia lifted her head, confirming that it had not been Elsie’s imagination, and had definitely been coming from the back of the house rather than the front. 

The knocking came again. It was undeniably coming from the kitchen door. Frowning, Elsie walked over and lifted one of the heavy, silver candlesticks from the mantle place. On the one hand, she couldn’t think of a single reason a thief or murderer would knock at the door rather than forcing their way in. On the other hand, she also couldn’t think of a single sane person who would be calling in the middle of the night, especially at the back of the house. With Thomas presumably asleep, she wasn’t going to risk it.

Safely armed, or at least armed enough to buy her time to scream if she needed to, she walked through the kitchen, turning the lights on as she went, and opened the door. There was no one immediately visible. She frowned and prepared to shut the door, assuming that the knocking had been coming from somewhere outside and she’d simply misheard, when a voice addressed her.

“Mrs. Hughes?”

Turning back, she peered into the darkness beyond the kitchen light. A shift of movement drew her attention to the corner of the house. There, dimly lit by the indirect light of the kitchen and the waning moon above, she finally made out the form to go with the voice. “Albert? Is that you?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then the young man answered her question by stepping fully into the light. She sucked in her breath in alarm. Downton’s footman was deathly pale and held himself stiffly, with his arms wrapped around his chest as if to ward off a chill. His hair, normally carefully styled as one would expect from someone of his station, was hopelessly mussed with something that looked like a twig sticking out of it. There was a smudge of dirt across one cheek. He stopped at least three feet away and watched her like a frightened rabbit. “I was hoping…” he started, his voice shaking. He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again with a bit more luck. “That is, is Mr. Barrow in?”

“He’s in, but he’s gone to bed.” Elsie replied, frowning. When he started to pull back into the shadows, she pushed the door open all the way and stepped out of the cottage. “I can wake him, if you need. Are you alright?”

He paused, glancing through the kitchen window as if hoping Thomas had heard the noise and would somehow appear all on his own. “I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t know if they…” He trailed off, as if afraid of drawing attention.

Elsie’s lips compressed to a thin line. She might not know what was going on, but anything that turned a usually bright, outgoing boy into a frightened wreck, particularly one that seemed terrified of her, of all people, was not good. “You’d best come inside,” she informed him in her best I-will-brook-no-nonsense voice. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I will wake Mr. Barrow.”

Casting one last glance over his shoulder into the surrounding night, Albert reluctantly slipped past and into the house. Elsie followed, shutting the door firmly behind them and bolting it. “This way,” she showed him into the parlor and gestured for him to have a seat on the sofa. Without waiting to see if he followed her instructions, she headed for the stairs. Then, remembering the candlestick in her hand, she turned and put that back in its place before returning to the task of fetching Thomas.

As Elsie reached the top of the stairs, her steps slowed. She wasn’t certain Thomas had managed to fall asleep, but if he had, every report she’d ever heard from the men’s side of the attics indicated that Downton’s butler did not take well to having his rest disturbed. Admittedly, the only time she remembered bearing witness to such a thing, Lady Sybil had just died, so it was no wonder if he was behaving out of the ordinary. If she thought back further, she could vaguely remember a time during the war. She couldn’t recall the exact disturbance, or Thomas’s exact reaction, but she didn’t remember him being precisely pleased. She stopped outside Thomas’s door, weighing her options, then shook her head. Whatever was wrong, it needed addressing and Albert was clearly not going to let her address it. Drawing a deep breath and offering up a quick prayer that Thomas would understand (and another that he would have his pyjamas on), she knocked on the door.

There was no answer, so she knocked again.

This time there was a vague noise of protest from the other side of the door. “Thomas?” she called, as clearly as she could. “I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s an emergency.” She waited. There was no vocal answer, but there was the sound of movement and a body stumbling about. Soon the door cracked open and Thomas peered out.

“Whatsit?” he asked, frowning and squinting against even the dim light of the hallway. All Elsie could immediately see was about half of his face and a shoulder draped in a dressing gown. She didn’t try to see any more.

“Albert is downstairs in the parlor,” she explained patiently to him, being certain to go slowly and enunciate. Apparently he really had been asleep. “He’s in quite a state.”

“What ‘appened?” Thomas asked, a bit more clearly this time.

Elsie shrugged. “I have no idea, he won’t tell me. All he’ll say is that he wants to talk to you.” She paused, debating how much she should say, and then added, “I was under the impression he thought someone might be chasing him.”

That did the trick. Thomas’s expression shifted from sleepy befuddlement to a distinct frown. “Tell him I’ll be down shortly,” he said, then summarily closed the door in her face. She might have been offended, but under the circumstances speed seemed a bit more important than manners. 

Upon returning to the parlor, Elsie found Albert had not taken a seat on the sofa. Instead he was half huddled in the wingback chair. Petunia had shifted on the hearth and was now sitting with her paws tucked under her like a loaf of tricoloured bread, eying him suspiciously. The sight brought Elsie up short. Even after a year, she couldn’t quite bring herself to sit in that chair. Thomas wouldn’t go near it, and so Petunia had, until this moment, had full claim of it. The sight of another person sitting there was unsettling and she opened her mouth to reprimand him, then stopped. 

Albert had never been to the cottage before. He had no way of knowing that was Charlie’s chair, and frightened as he obviously was, he didn’t need to be ticked off for something as mundane as sitting in a chair. “Mr. Barrow will be down shortly,” she said instead.

“Thank you,” Albert muttered, hunkering down in a manner she’d normally have scolded him for. He was silent for a second, then asked, just as softly, “I don’t suppose we could draw the curtains?”

Elsie’s eyes moved past him to the windows where the curtains were still pulled back, leaving the night outside visible to the inhabitants of the cottage and the other way around. Of course, she realized belatedly. The sofa was in plain view of anyone who happened to look in, while the wingback chair offered protection from prying eyes. The last of her irritation fading, she crossed wordlessly to the window and did as he asked. “There,” she soothed, walking back to the chair. “Now no one can see us.”

Albert’s lips flickered briefly up at the corners and he muttered something that was probably more thanks, but spoken so softly that she couldn’t hear. He’d started trembling slightly, like a child who’s had a narrow escape and, now safe, is only starting to realize how terrifying the whole thing was. 

Moving slowly as not to startle him, Elsie reached out and plucked the twig from his hair, tossing it in the fireplace. He didn’t try to avoid her, but he wouldn’t look directly at her either. She frowned, worried and frustrated by his unwillingness to let her help. In hopes that he would be more open now that he was inside and safe, she asked, “Are you certain you can’t tell me what happened?”

He curled even further into the chair. “You’d want nothing more to do with me. Not ever.”

While the proclamation did nothing to sooth her worries, she couldn’t quite keep herself from smiling. “Oh, if I had a shilling for every time I’ve heard that, I’d be rich as a king. But it’s never been true, not once.” Behind her came the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs, followed in short order by Thomas’s voice.

“Albert?” Thomas asked, moving past Elsie to kneel next to the wingback chair. If he felt any of her shock at seeing someone sitting in it, it wasn’t apparent, buried under concern for the younger man. “What’s happened? Are you alright?” When the only answer he got was a glance in her direction, he turned and asked, reluctantly, “Mrs. Hughes, I don’t suppose you could go put the kettle on? Or something?”

While Elsie didn’t particularly appreciate being asked to make herself scarce in her own home, it was quite apparent that they weren’t going to get any answers if Albert thought she was within ear shot. With a resigned nod, she turned and walked back into the kitchen. As she busied herself rekindling the stove, she caught herself listening intently, trying to make out some of the conversation from the room behind her. The cottage, while perfectly spacious for two people, was not large, and a conversation held at normal volume in the parlor could easily be heard in the kitchen. The two men were speaking just loud enough for her to hear their voices, but not to make out words. It was probably for the best. She didn’t need to be eavesdropping.

Once the stove was heating, she filled the kettle and set it to boil. She was looking out the dark window, running through her schedule for the next day to distract herself, when Albert’s voice raised high enough for her to hear.

“We were only dancing, I swear it!”

Elsie frowned sharply and she left the stove, going to hover by the doorway. She’d known, of course, that there was a dance down at the village. It had been all the maids would talk about for the past three days. If something had gone wrong, something that could affect her girls, then it was her duty to find out, even if it meant listening in. But what could have gone wrong at a dance?

“Why were the police even there, that’s what I want to know?” Thomas replied, his voice an irritated hiss. “You’d think they’d have been keeping the peace down at the hall or the pub. Why trek out to a half forgotten barn?”

Elsie frowned. Not the dance in the village, then. 

“Maybe someone saw the light from our lanterns and thought we were squatters?”

“Might be it.” There was a pause, and then, “Do you know if anyone else got away?”

There wasn’t a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, so that part of the question must have been answered by gesture. “Jack and I had stepped outside for a bit of air and to talk a bit. Just talking, mind, nothing more.”

“Albert, I wouldn’t care if there was more. You know that.”

Memories slotted into place: Thomas’s assurance that Albert wouldn’t try to sneak in girls; Albert’s stammered apologies when Jenny had kissed him on New Year’s; the number of outings the younger members of the staff had eagerly joined in on, but Albert had bowed out of. Elsie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt a fool, really. How had she missed that all of these years? Of course, it wasn’t the first time. When it came to men like that, it was always her hindsight that recognized the signs. Still, it more than explained Albert’s state when he arrived, and how skittish he suddenly was around her. She focused on the conversation again.

“Since there was only one after us, we split up. I didn’t want to, but Jack pushed me toward the woods and took off in the other direction.”

“Smart move. Can’t chase two people at once.”

“Yes, but if he didn’t come after me, then Jack…”

“Might well have gotten away, if he was clever enough,” Thomas answered, voice firm. “No way to know until morning.”

The water was not going to boil fast enough, Elsie decided. She turned and fetched down a plate, then opened the biscuit tin. It had been just cool enough the previous morning for her to make shortbread. She laid a half dozen of the biscuits on the plate, then turned and made her way back into the parlor. 

Albert was still curled in the chair, Thomas knelt in front of him. At some point in the proceedings, the younger man had come so far undone as to start crying. Looking at the two of them, Elsie couldn’t help but remember years earlier, when it had been Thomas scared and sobbing, terrified that he’d thrown his life away on a stupid, careless risk. At least then she’d managed to be useful, able to give comfort and advice rather than a simple plate full of shortbread. There again, she supposed that Thomas hadn’t had anyone else to turn to, while Albert clearly already knew he had one ally. She’d simply have to show him that he had another one.

“Do you think you’ll be safe to go back to the abbey on your own?” Thomas was asking as she entered the room.

“I don’t know,” Albert sniffled, dragging the back of his sleeve across his eyes. “For all I know they-” He cut off as he saw her there. Thomas turned as well and arched an eyebrow, although whether because she hadn’t stayed in the kitchen or at the biscuits she couldn’t tell.

“Well whatever you decide, here, have some shortbread first,” she insisted, pushing the plate into Albert’s hands. She looked at Thomas, who was still giving her a dubious look, and said, “It’s not that big a house you know, even if you keep your voices down.”

Thomas simply sighed and shook his head. “Go ahead,” he told Albert with a rueful smile. “They aren’t poisoned. You’re safe here.” He glanced at Elsie and back. “Your secret’s safe.”

Whether out of actual hunger or simply manners and respect for his superiors, Albert picked up a biscuit and started nibbling on it. 

Thomas stood, wincing as one of his knees cracked. “Getting rickety in my old age.”

Elsie scoffed at him. “What old age?” 

“I’m forty three,” he protested.

“Which means you’ve a couple years yet to go before you reach middle age, forget ‘old’,” she informed him, primly. “Wait until you’re seventy, then talk to me about old. My ghost will listen.”

Despite his distress, Albert stifled a snort of laughter, then half choked on his shortbread. Elsie took the plate while Thomas thumped him on the back. “Here, now,” the butler scolded, “You’re not allowed to die on me. We’ve a house party this weekend. I need you to carry round the sauces.” The joke really didn’t help, only caused Albert to laugh harder. After several minutes he finally managed to calm both his coughing and laughter. Thomas eyed him, warily. “You alright?” When he got a nod in reply, he stepped away and sighed. “Alright, look, here’s what I suggest. The water will be boiling before too long. You go upstairs and freshen up a bit. I’m going to step out back and have a smoke. When the tea’s ready, we’ll have a cup, then I’ll get presentable and walk with you back up to the abbey. That will give us time for the police to give up, if they’ve not already, and if we do bump into them, well. They’re hardly going to question what you’re about if I’m with you, are they?”

“I hope not,” Albert sighed, then slowly unfurled himself from the chair. 

Thomas patted him on the back, then pointed the way to the bathroom. “Up the stairs, to your left at the end of the hall.” Once the younger man had vanished, he looked at Elsie and sighed. He suddenly looked beat. “Well, that was a bit of excitement. Might as well keep those out,” he nodded at the shortbread. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to step outside.”

“Feel free.” One thing that Elsie did not allow was smoking in the cottage, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him not to do it outdoors. She stood, biscuits in hand as he walked past her, into the kitchen, stopping by his coat just long enough to presumably grab his cigarette case. The house was still enough she heard the faint squeal of the hinges as they opened, but no answering squeal as they shut.

After a moment’s deliberation, she set the shortbread on the table next to the window. With the curtains drawn, there should be no danger of someone deciding to come knocking. She walked in to check on the kettle, which sounded like it had worked up to a simmer, but was a good way from boiling. It was no surprise, really, that the back door stood open. The same light breeze from earlier blew through it. A look through the kitchen window revealed Thomas standing at the edge of the house, staring out toward the shadowed woods. Elsie would have thought he’d have gotten fully dressed first, but she supposed no one was likely to see him out behind the house in pyjamas and a gown. She glanced down at the kettle again and, deciding she had plenty of time, walked out onto the lawn herself. “Are you going to be alright?”

Thomas turned to look at her. He managed a ghost of a smile, one that did nothing to make him look less exhausted. “Yeah, I’ll be alright,” he assured her. “Just a bit tired is all. A smoke and a bit of tea, I’ll be right as rain.” As if to prove his point, he took a drag off of his cigarette, his gaze drifting back out into the darkness.

Thoroughly unconvinced, Elsie walked out and stood next to him. After a minute’s silence, in which he blew smoke into the air and she watched shadows dart across the moon, he asked, “Why can’t they just leave us alone? Mind their own business like they do with everyone else?”

Elsie sighed. “I don’t know,” she shook her head. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, true, of course. She lived in the same world he did. She heard the same cries against the corruption of society and the dangers of depraved apatites. But the men she’d met who had confided in her, for one reason or another, who had revealed their secrets with shame or sorrow or indifference or defiance, had never fit the picture painted of them. They had, to a man, simply been trying to get through life and find some happiness while they did it, same as everyone else. Certainly they should be punished if, say, they behaved like Alex Green. Any man deserved to be punished for that. But for dancing? What on earth was the harm in that? “I truly don’t know.”

With a sigh, Thomas looked up to the light in the second story window. “He’s too young to deal with that. Albert. Only twenty three. He should be enjoying life right now.”

“If I remember correctly, you weren’t enjoying life very much at twenty three.”

“No,” he agreed, “I wasn’t. I should have been, though. I was too young to be dealing with…what I was dealing with.”

She thought of him back before the war, leading Daisy a merry dance, letting her think he was interested. She couldn’t say she condoned it, not then or now, but she could at least say that in hindsight it made sense. “Did you ever go to a dance like that?” she wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer.

He blew another plume of smoke and then, to her surprise, said, “Once. Only it wasn’t in a half falling down barn. It was an old abandoned warehouse. In York. It had been turned into sort of a club.”

The answer wasn’t a surprise, so much as the fact he volunteered the information. Thomas had always liked dancing, as long as Elsie had known him, and she could easily believe him slipping off to an underground club, drinking and dancing with some good looking man. She couldn’t quite see Mr. Ellis, who had visited for Thomas’s birthday the previous month, being that man. He had been too reserved, even in the way he smiled at Thomas across his tea cup. But there had been a time before Richard Ellis, and in that time any number of things could have happened. “Why only once?” she asked. “It sounds like something you’d quite enjoy.”

“I did,” he agreed readily, an easy, genuine smile crossing his face. “It was heaven, really. It wasn’t even the dancing or knowing the bloke who’d taken me there thought I was worth dancing with. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to hide. Everyone there knew and everyone there was the same as me. For the first time, the only time really, I was someplace I truly belonged.” He stared into the distance, lost in some memory Elsie could only guess at, full of music and laughter. “And then the police raided and I spent a good part of an hour in York prison.”

“In…?” The words hit Elsie like a slap to the face and she stood, jaw slightly agape, staring at him. 

He smiled ruefully and nodded. “Rather ruined the night.” He said it like a joke, a bit of whimsy, but it was shot through with a sort of bitterness she hadn’t heard from him in years.

“I can imagine.” She felt numb just thinking about it. “How did you get out?”

“Richard,” he replied with an almost brutal honesty. “It was during the royal visit. We’d gone into York so he could visit his parents. I was supposed to wait for him at a pub, only I met the other fellow and, well, I didn’t know where we were going, you see. Thought it was just another pub. So I told the publican to tell Richard where to find me and Richard tracked me to the police station. And then he saved me. Threw down his calling card and the name of His Majesty and sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Barrow, you’re free to go.” He shrugged, examining the tip of his cigarette as if it contained some sort of answer to all life’s questions. “It’s how I learned he was like me.”

Elsie made a note to give the king’s second dresser her profuse thanks the next time she saw him. Still, she could barely believe it. “You’d known each other for what? Two days? Three?”

“Something like that.” Thomas’s expression couldn’t quite be called a smile, but it couldn’t quite be called anything else either. “He said that men like us, we need to stick together. And he was right.”

“And thank heaven for that.” She laid a hand on his arm. “While we’re at it, thank heaven that Albert has you to look out for him. I can only imagine what his life would be like if you weren’t here.”

Thomas ducked his head a bit at that, trying to hide the pleased smile that flitted across his face at the praise. “I’m sure he’d do well enough. He’d find someone else to care. You, perhaps, or Mrs. Molesley.”

“If we were lucky. There again, he might meet his own Miss O’Brien first.”

Thomas flinched at that one.

“Men like you may need to stick together, but you can’t do everything on your own,” Elsie observed with a wry smile. “You need other people to stand beside you too, I think, and the more the merrier. That’s how things are going to change.”

“You’re right there,” he agreed heartily, finishing off his cigarette and pulling out another. “That’s why I was never particularly upset that Richard had Liz…” He froze, lighter in hand, the tip of the cigarette just above the flame. Slowly, carefully, he finished what he was doing and tucked the lighter away. “Cor,” he said with a forced chuckle. “I am tired, aren’t I? Listen to me, running away at the mouth.” He was very deliberately not looking at her.

“Indeed?” Elsie asked, her eyebrows arched. The unfamiliar name had been a curiosity. The fact it was apparently forbidden was intriguing. “Well, you don’t need to tell me who this ‘Liz’ is, if you don’t want to.”

Thomas pondered for a long moment, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Finally he sighed and shook his head. “Might as well. Cat’s out of the bag, not going to have much luck shoving it back in.” He didn’t rush, however, inhaling another lungful of smoke instead and breathing it out. “Lizzy Ellis is Richard’s wife.”

Just when she’d thought she couldn’t be shocked any more times in one evening. “Wife?” Elsie stared at him. 

He nodded. “He doesn’t wear the handcuff when he’s outside of London,” he wiggled the fingers of his left hand in illustration, “but yeah. He’s married. I’d never mentioned it because I wasn’t certain you’d approve.” He was watching her in that sideways manner he did when he was afraid he might have crossed some invisible line, moved beyond the pale, and was about to be cast from her good graces forever.

She’d never liked that look. She’d always taken a sort of pride in proving it was wrong, that he was not the horror that he thought he was and she was not the unbending arm of the law. (That, she would admit in her most honest moments, had been Charlie’s job.) Now she stood, quietly, turning the information over in her mind. She didn’t approve, that much was certain. There were limits and this was outside of them. Still, it seemed queer that Thomas would know, and what’s more that he’d seem more or less at ease with the situation, if Mr. Ellis were the sort to keep secrets. “You know about her. Does she know about you?” she asked, cautiously feeling her way through the situation.

“Oh yes,” he nodded, an impulsive smile darting across his face before he managed to suppress it. “In fact, when the family went to London in twenty eight, she insisted on having me over for tea. Said she wanted to meet the man who could make Richard smile like a boy again.”

For all Mr. Ellis had always been reserved and proper when he visited, Elsie knew that smile. What’s more, when he was visiting she’d actually seen that smile on Thomas. 

“She’s a very nice person,” Thomas continued, his tone hopeful and coaxing, as if he were trying to sell her on a new piece of furniture for the parlor. It occurred to her that he wanted her to like this unseen woman. “She’s always reminded me of someone. I can never quite put my finger on who. But she loves Richard, truly. All she wants is for him to be safe and happy.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with her motives,” Elsie allowed, under her breath. From inside, the kettle whistled. “I’ll be right back.” She walked back into the house, using the time to gather her thoughts. She could understand wanting to protect people you cared about. She’d certainly protected enough people in her life. But she couldn’t see marrying a man, knowing he was going to be unfaithful. She couldn’t see giving him permission to be unfaithful. Was it even being unfaithful if he had permission? She couldn’t say. Try though she might, she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. 

With the pot heating, and feeling a bit more collected, she rejoined Thomas. He was studying the pale roses climbing up the corner of the house, and as she approached, he turned to her and said, quite emphatically, “Lady Rose.” Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he immediately followed it up with, “That’s who Lizzy reminds me of. Lady Rose. Older, of course, and working class. She actually works in a millinery shop. But she has that same sort of fiercely carefree air, like her world is going to be pleasant and she won’t tolerate any nasty tomfoolery from everyone else.” He paused, thinking, then added, “Her hair even curls like Lady Rose’s did sometimes, only Lizzy’s is dark.”

An air of bemusement joined Elsie’s confusion at the image of Lord Grantham’s young cousin with her bright smiles and near reckless love of dancing, dressed as a milliner. It changed things again, although she couldn’t truly say how. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and smoothed back a bit of his hair that had been mussed in sleep and stayed that way. “Well. I can’t say that I understand or approve,” she said, a bit saddened at how his expression fell at the words, “But I can’t say I disapprove either. It’s not my life, and so I’m sure it’s not my place to cast stones.”

A tension she hadn’t realized was there dropped from his shoulders and he gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Elsie.”

“For what?”

“For putting up with me.” He shrugged. “For not telling me that I’m a fool or a degenerate. For not kicking me out of your house.”

That earned him a scoff. “I’d never, you know that.”

“Plenty of people would,” he countered.

She knew it was true. What she didn’t know, because there were certain things they still never talked about, was how many people had. “Well those people would be missing out on a very worthwhile man. Now, the pot should be warmed, so why don’t you put out that cigarette and come inside? If nothing else, you’ll want to get properly dressed before you walk young Albert home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to my usual beta recognition, from here on out I would like to thank Romantika for fielding my questions on the Queen's English vs. the President's, architecture, period lighting, etc. If anyone spots anything I've done wrong, please feel free to point it out in the comments.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A quick note:** Pet ownership in the '20s/'30s was very different than today. For instance, from what I can tell this story takes place just as spaying and neutering of anything smaller than a cow was just starting to be a thing. In other words, Elsie and Thomas are being very good pet owners for their time period.

_June 1935_

At first, Elsie wasn’t certain what had woken her. The night was still and quiet and she hadn’t been dreaming that she could remember. Then something moved on the bed next to her, walking up until it was even with her shoulder blades, and stopping with a very final thump. The quiet was broken by the sound of licking. She sighed. “Hello, Petunia.” There was no answer except continued licking. 

Elsie shifted away from the cat, whose weight was pulling the covers uncomfortably taut over her shoulders, and closed her eyes again. Unfortunately, now that she was awake, she was also quite aware of that last cup of tea before bed. She tried to ignore it for a couple of minutes, then sighed yet again, turned on the lamp, and climbed out of bed. She looked at the cat, who paused in her grooming and looked back over the bulge of her stomach, and pursed her lips. “You had better have that litter outside, miss.”

Petunia blinked at her, then went back to her bath.

Shaking her head slightly, Elsie lit the candle on her nightstand, picked it up, and headed out of the room and down the hall. She’d had cats as a girl, after a fashion. All of the farmers did. They lived in the barn and except for one or two who would wander into the kitchen on occasion to beg for scraps, they stayed there. Petunia, having been brought inside as a kitten, liked being inside, thank you very much. Unless, of course, she felt like being outside, in which case she liked being outside, thank you very much. Once she was grown, they had tried putting her out for the night to avoid her scratching at doors in the middle of the night. It had worked for a brief time, but then she had taken to hiding if she wanted to stay in. Being a small cat, it was easy for her to avoid them. They had eventually just taken to leaving the bedroom doors open a crack so she could come and go as she pleased. If one of them was ill or had other reasons for not wanting her company on a particular night, they shut their door and the other door stayed open. 

It mostly worked.

Similarly, she was mostly content to have her kittens outside. There had been one notable exception the year before when she’d decided to give birth in the pantry. Neither Elsie or Thomas was eager to repeat the experience, especially since one of the kittens had tried to stay inside like his mother. Dubbed Pumpkin, he’d been tolerated until he decided to spray the sofa. He now lived in the garden shed, although he occasionally wandered into the kitchen to beg for scraps, much as the barn cats of Elsie’s youth. Fortunately he was large enough that they could leave a downstairs window cracked for her to come and go without him wiggling his way in.

As she reached the other end of the hall, Elsie stopped, frowning. Thomas’s door was standing wide open. So was the bathroom door, which meant they weren’t out of bed with the same goal. She was dimly aware of a slight noise off to her left, coming up the stairs. Curious, she continued to her destination, determined to investigate when she’d finished her current business.

Several minutes later, she stepped into the kitchen. The the room was lit by a candle sitting on the counter, a soft humming filled the room, and Thomas, in his dressing robe, stood at the stove. She blinked in the light, her sleep hazed mind trying to place the melody of the music. When it finally clicked, she frowned. “Thomas?”

He spun, a comical look for surprise on his face. She half expected him to yelp, but he didn’t. “Oh, Elsie.” He gave her a shaky smile. “You startled me. Didn’t hear you get up.”

“How you missed the water running in the pipes, I don’t know.” Elsie peered past him to the stove, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was three in the morning. “What in heaven’s name are you doing down here at this hour?”

“Ah,” he glanced at the stove, “Nothing much. I was just having a bit of difficulty sleeping, so I thought I’d warm some milk.”

It was a reasonable explanation. Still, Elsie liked to be certain of things, so before she headed back up the stairs, she asked, “Is anything amiss?”

“Not really,” he replied with a tight smile and a too-bright tone. “Just thinking about things too much, that’s all. Sometimes I wish I could turn off my brain, like a light. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It would,” she agreed, automatically running through her own mental list of things that could possibly be worrying him. “Has something happened with Mr. Ellis?”

“What?” An almost guilty look flashed across his face, as if he’d been caught doing something. It vanished behind a nervous laugh. “No, not a bit. I’m just being silly, really. Worrying over nothing. What would make you think it was Richard?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re warming milk in the middle of the night while singing about a woman who was hanged for shooting her faithless lover.”

He thought that over, the guilty look creeping back onto his face. “I like Cole Porter,” he protested feebly. “And that song’s clearly meant to be sung by a butler. Or a footman, at least. How many songs can you say that about?”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, although she still didn’t believe that his worries were as trivial as he made out, or that Mr. Ellis had nothing to do with them. “But if you’re trying to relax, maybe try something a bit happier? Or at least more soothing?”

He thought a moment more, then shook his head. “No, no good. I was reading Wodehouse before bed, so all I can come up with is ‘Sonny Boy’.” Elsie scoffed and rolled her eyes. Finally managing a properly defensive tone, Thomas replied, “It featured very prominently in that story! I have it upstairs in my room, you can read it yourself.”

“Perhaps I’ll read it in the morning,” she replied, not because she didn’t believe him, but because she didn’t want to be distracted from the point by comedic fiction. She walked past him and, gently pushing him out of the way, started tending the milk. He’d completely stopped paying attention to it, and it was going to scorch if he wasn’t careful. More importantly, it let him know that she wasn’t simply going to go back to bed. “Now,” she looked at him pointedly as she stirred, “Why don’t you tell me about the silly worries that have you humming a murder ballad?”

For a minute he was silent. Then he grudgingly admitted, “I have had a letter. From Richard. The King’s health is…not good. He’s not on death’s door, yet, but he’s not getting any younger.”

“None of us are,” Elsie noted. “Does this mean Mr. Ellis won’t be able to visit for your birthday next month?”

“No. He won’t.”

“That is a shame.” She knew better than to try consoling him with the fact that the other man had not only made it out for Christmas, but had briefly visited in March. Mrs. Ellis (Richard’s mother, not his wife) had died, so it hadn’t been a very cheerful visit, even if Thomas had clearly been touched by Richard’s willingness to come to him with his grief. Add to that the fact the family had not gone into London for the season due to Lord Grantham’s health and Thomas had been looking forward to the birthday visit. “Has he given any thought to what he’s going to do when the inevitable happens?”

“He has,” Thomas replied, very slowly, and Elsie got the impression his worries went deeper than one visit. “He and Lizzy had been hoping to move out to Yorkshire and open a business together. A millinery shop, preferably, or perhaps books. They both read. The thing is, with Mrs. Ellis dead, Lizzy’s Mum has been trying to convince them to come live near her.”

Elsie frowned as she checked the temperature on the milk, then carefully poured it from the saucepan to the mug sitting there, waiting for it. “I thought Lizzy was from Yorkshire, same as Mr. Ellis?” She handed the mug to Thomas so he could add his own honey.

“Originally, yes,” Thomas confirmed as he dug a spoonful of honey out of the jar. “Only then her Dad died. Her Mum remarried and, at some point or other, her step father wound up with a small inheritance. Don’t know what it was. Maybe a farm or family business. Maybe just a house. Who knows? Anyway, her Mum was glad to get away from old memories, so he packed the whole family up and moved. Lizzy was already working by then, so she stayed behind.”

“And where did they move to?”

“Hampshire.”

“Oh dear.” Elsie winced. The way he said it, it might as well have been Australia. It wasn’t actually Australia, of course, but given the difficulty the two of them had finding time to visit as it was, she could understand his concern. It seemed to her that traveling as a business owner would be even more troublesome than traveling as a servant. Still, as long as they hadn’t bought a house there was hope. “Have they decided to change their plans, then?”

“No,” Thomas shook his head and forced an abortive smile. “Richard said they’re giving it due consideration, but Lizzy and her mother aren’t close. Not like that. She doesn’t know about Richard, for one thing, and from what I can tell wouldn’t approve if she did. It really doesn’t seem likely that they’ll want to live closer to her.” He sipped his milk, then continued, “But they might decide to split the difference. Richard wants to get out of London, but Shropshire or someplace like that…easier travel to both families.”

“Did Mr. Ellis say they were thinking about that as a possibility?”

Thomas shook his head. “No. They probably won’t, either. They’ll probably come to Yorkshire, just as planned, and everything will be lovely.” He met her eye and made another attempt at smiling. “As I said, I’m just worrying over nothing.” He hesitated, dropping his eyes to his mug again. “Only, so many times, when it came down to me or someone else, I’ve been the one set aside. Even if it’s not now, it’s not this, I can’t help feeling like someday something will happen and Richard will have to choose…and he’ll choose the other person, whoever that is.”

Elsie pictured the two of them back in March: Mr. Ellis subdued, but still trying to smile, while Thomas listened to him talk. She had stayed out of the room as much as possible, giving them their space, but when she had walked through or brought tea, they hadn’t pulled back or stopped talking. It was the most open she’d seen either of them, ever, and while it had not been a happy occasion, it had seemed to her a testament to their feelings toward each other. “I can’t see it,” she told him, careful to keep her honesty soft. He took criticism well enough at work, but one had to be careful when he was like this. “He’s so fond of you! Don’t tell me you’ve missed the way he looks at you.” It won her a small, but genuine smile. She tried to think of a time where he might have felt passed over, to show the flaws in his comparison, but she couldn’t think of one. Still, it seemed to be the crux of things, so she asked. “When was the last time you had an experience like that?”

He hesitated, then admitted. “The royal visit.”

“That was years ago!” She’d expected something more recent.

“I know,” he agreed. “And if it were just the one time, it wouldn’t matter. But I only got this job because Mr. Carson couldn’t do it anymore, didn’t I? If his hands hadn’t gone shaky, I’d still be rotting out in Driffield.” There was a line of tension starting to build in his voice and he sipped his milk almost defensively.

She wanted to tell him he was right, he was being silly, but she didn’t dare. It hadn’t happened often, but she’d learned that the older the wound that had opened, the harder it was to get stitched back up. “True, but that wouldn’t be because you were passed over. You know we’ve had to reduce staff. It was pure luck your job was the most expendable.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Pure luck I had a job at all, wasn’t it? Still don’t know why his Lordship decided to make me under butler rather than be rid of me.”

Elsie knew, of course, that Lord Grantham had made the decision so that Charlie could reassert his authority on the house, but she was not going to share that information with Thomas. Not now.

“He clearly wanted to be rid of me.”

“Did he?” Elsie asked, struggling not to simply correct him. She might have known Lord Grantham’s motives, but Thomas didn’t, so it seemed an illogical deduction. “He did send the police away, after all.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t want a scandal. Doesn’t mean he wanted me. If he had, he wouldn’t have promoted me, then given away my job. Not when he believed Bates would be back.”

There were problems with that. Elsie ran through the sequence of events, as best she could remember them. Mr. Bates’s arrest had left them needing a valet. Thomas’s promotion had left them with no footmen when they’d really needed two. No matter what way things were handled, someone would be out a job when Mr. Bates came back. Thomas had been the logical choice, really. Mr. Bates would have had difficulty getting another job, to say the least. Demoting Thomas would have been insulting. Better for him to move to a new house, into a better position. She remembered telling him, at that point, he could be a butler. Without the affair with Jimmy, the whole thing would have been straight forward and worked entirely to Thomas’s advantage. And yet he was upset and listening to him place his evidence before her, she couldn’t just tell him he was being silly about it. He was, but at the same time, he wasn’t. “There was always the possibility that he would have kept you and Mr. Bates would have found a new line of work,” she suggested, trying to shift his point of view. “Maybe he’d have opened the inn sooner than planned.”

The attempt failed spectacularly.

“Not a chance!” The level of scorn in his voice would have been insulting if it hadn’t been so alarming. “If that were true, Bates wouldn’t have been there to start with. I’d have had the job back when the Titanic sank, but his Lordship would rather have a normal man, even if he couldn’t do all of the work, than someone like me.”

“Oh I’m certain that had nothing to do with it!” The words were out of Elsie’s mouth before she could stop them, and she regretted them immediately. 

Despite her light tone, Thomas’s posture had gone ridged and his face blank. It was the face of a much younger man, living in a much different world. His tone, when he spoke, was a parody of pleasantness, underlined with a snarling bitterness that she’d not heard in years and never had directed at her. “Of course. You’re right. Silly me.”

She half expected him to take his milk and retreat to his room. Fortunately he settled for looking firmly away from her, sulking. Still, she’d put her foot in it, well and truly. She almost suggested they go to bed, talk more in the morning when they were better rested, but she knew if she did that he’d just spend the rest of the night brooding. And women were supposed to be the ones with delicate sensibilities. Really. Men. 

The problem was, if she went start to finish, she could see what he was seeing. While no one had really been upset at Thomas’s not being promoted except Thomas, and perhaps O’Brien, no one had believed it when Mr. Bates had walked into the abbey with his stick and injured leg. While she was certain, quite certain, that his romantic preferences had not played a role, she could easily understand why a young, ambitious man would be offended. While she couldn’t agree with his resulting behavior (and really, she had to wonder how much of that had been a result of O’Brien’s influence), she could see, or start to see, ever so faintly, how the impressions would build up. Mr. Bates being hired at the start. Mr. Bates being rehired after he returned from prison. Thomas’s exile from the place he’d started to think of as ‘home’ because there wasn’t space for him. The alternative reasons; Mr. Bates’s previous connection to Lord Grantham; Lord Grantham’s loyalty to an old friend; the logic that dictated the least useful servant leave, they all stood out so strong and clear that she couldn’t agree with the dismal world she saw through Thomas’s eyes, but she couldn’t ignore it either. “Still,” she tried, her voice pitched low and serious, “If that’s how it felt at the time, I suppose that’s the important thing. Isn’t it?”

At first she wasn’t certain it was going to work. He continued to stay quiet, sipping his milk. Finally, though, while he didn’t look at her, he tilted his head back in her direction slightly, and said in the same, sharp tone, “That’s exactly what it felt like at the time. That’s what it felt like every time. Every time I did what they asked, only to be passed over, or even pushed down and mocked. Every time I got ticked off for saying something that would have gotten a laugh if someone else had said it. Every time someone encouraged William to chase after Daisy, when I knew they’d never do that for me, if I found someone. Every time one of those toffee-nosed sods who’d promised…” he paused, his voice cracking, then shook his head. “But they make the same promises to the maids, don’t they? My own ruddy fault for listening. It still hurt. It felt like that when…” He didn’t pick up the sentence. Instead he stared blankly toward the stairs. Eventually he took an absent sip of milk, but the continued silence told Elsie that either he’d run out of examples, or had reached a point where he was hurting too much to put it into proper words.

She guessed the latter. With a sigh, she walked over and laid a hand on his arm. There was no easy answer for this one, nothing she could say to sew the wound back up and get it healing again. All she really knew was that she couldn’t make another misstep. Not now. “I can’t go back and change any of that. If I could, I would,” she promised, “But I can’t. And I can’t answer for the people who have hurt you, whether they’ve meant to or not.” She did not point to specific instances where the damage hadn’t been meant. It didn’t really matter. “What I can say is this: From what you’ve told me Richard Ellis walked into a police station for you. He risked his station, his reputation, and possibly even his freedom. He’s not simply going to give you up. And while I’ve not met his wife, I have heard him give you her love when he’s come to visit. I’ve seen the presents she’s sent. They may not be the crown jewels, but the gloves she got you for Christmas were very nice.” A quick flick of his lips told her that he was listening. She took a deep breath. “And finally,” she said, playing her trump card and praying it would work, “I know at least one instance, much more recent than the royal visit, when someone could have chosen someone else, but didn’t.”

He paused, mug halfway to his lips, and turned a confused expression on her.

She smiled. “When Charles died, I didn’t have to let out his room. If I did, I could have let it to anyone. A little extra money would not have gone amiss, after all, and if I’d not wanted a young man in the house, I might have found a girl looking for a place to board. And yes, I know, there were advantages for the big house having you move in here. We’d not have been able to hire Sammy otherwise. But we’d have muddled along, somehow. We always do.” She patted his arm, then dropped her hand to her side “And so you see, I had a choice, and I chose you. And I’ve never regretted it.”

He stared at her, expression gobsmacked, for a good minute before a tiny huff of laughter escaped his lips. One corner of his mouth quirked up and he dropped his eyes to his milk, not in avoidance, but confusion. “I suppose I never thought of it like that before.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” She peered into his mug. It was nearly empty. “I’d never thought of things the way you do, either. But now we have and hopefully it will have given us a bit of perspective. Now, I suggest you finish that milk and we both go to bed. In the morning, when you’ve a bit of free time, you can call Mr. Ellis and have a chat about what might or might not happen in the future.”

He nodded and Elsie left him to his thoughts, hoping as she walked up the stairs that he would find the future a bit brighter, and that she wouldn’t find a litter of newborn kittens on her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking my own rule with this one in that the next scene isn't ready to go. On the other hand, I am about to probably lose my beta reader for a bit due to real life circumstances, so I figure it's going to be a bit of a wait on that one anyway. So, since I am tired and cranky from my Nation's bloody loud birthday party and want to somehow feel productive, I'mma go ahead and get the rest of the angst out of the way.
> 
> For the curious, Thomas is humming "Miss Otis Regrets" and had just read through "Jeeves and the Song of Songs".
> 
> Also, I didn't mean to dedicate this chapter to Alex51324, but between the orange cat and the Wodehouse references, it dedicated itself.


	7. Chapter 7

_April, 1936_

Elsie sat in the wingback chair and pretended to be absorbed in her knitting. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Thomas straighten the room, again, and then go and peer through the curtains, again. It was the fifth time he’d looked in as many minutes. “That’s not going to make them get here any faster,” she informed him, although she was unable to suppress a smile at his eagerness.

He paused, his hand still brushing the curtains aside, and looked at her. “I know,” he replied, just a touch defensive, a smile of his own dancing around his lips. “It’s just there’s not much else to do to pass the time. I can’t concentrate to read.”

“No, I suppose you can’t.” He’d tried. Elsie had watched him pick up his book, the one the Ellises had sent him for Christmas, and set it down three times before giving up. She suspected his next glance out the window was involuntary, but she couldn’t help teasing. “Still, I’m not certain Mr. Carson would approve of how pleased you are by His Majesty’s death.”

“The King is dead. Long live the King.” Thomas turned and grinned at her, letting the curtain fall. Then he dropped his eyes, growing more serious. “I’m not pleased that he’s dead, really. It’s only that now I can have Richard living right here in Downton. For me, that’s like a fairy tale come to life.” His face fell into a pensive shadow. “Or it will be. Except it’s not the first time I’ve thought that I was getting a happy ending, and I’ve always been wrong before.”

“So you’re waiting for it to fall apart on you.” It wasn’t a question. Thomas had unerring faith in many things, but his own good fortune was not one of them.

He nodded, then watched her with that shuttered, anxious expression that expected ridicule while at the same time desperately hoping it didn’t come.

As always, she tried to reward the hope. “I know it’s difficult for you to believe, but you’ve as much right to be happy as anyone else.”

“Parliament doesn’t agree with you there,” he replied, his tight smile making a lie of his light tone.

Elsie scoffed. “And what does a bunch of old men who can’t dress themselves know about it? Or Lady Astor, for that matter?” The observation earned her a chuff of laughter, half choked back. “Parliament isn’t here, Thomas, and the police won’t come without someone summoning them. If someone should be so foolish as to make that call, Lord and Lady Grantham will see it set straight, if only to avoid scandal and for the sake of the children. So stop borrowing trouble and enjoy your good fortune when it arrives, that’s my advice.”

“It’s good advice, as always,” he admitted, smiling a bit more easily, although his nerves clearly hadn’t abandoned him. “Just not as easy to follow as one might think.”

“Good advice rarely is.”

He smiled, then glanced toward the window. He didn’t move. 

After several moments of this, Elsie half sighed, half laughed at him. “Alright, alright! Go and see if they’re on their way!”

With a quick, embarrassed duck of the head, Thomas turned and peeked through the curtains one more time. This time he straightened immediately, his eyes shining, his attention locked on the end of the path leading to the house like one of the cats with a bird. For a moment he stood, frozen, then he turned to her, dropping the curtains, and announced quite needlessly, “They’re here.”

“I’ll be along as soon as I finish this row,” Elsie promised. The guests were undoubtedly still at the end of the walk, which gave her plenty of time. Thomas bobbed a nod, then vanished into the entryway. She wondered if he’d wait for them to knock or simply stand with the door open until they reached the cottage. The hinges had been oiled recently, so there would be no tell tale sound either way. She supposed he might actually walk all the way out and greet them, but that seemed overly forward, even for Thomas at his most excited. She finished her row, then bundled up the jumper-in-progress and tucked it into the basket she kept it in. Petunia had not figured out how to get into the basket yet. She then stood and was smoothing down her skirt when a bright, female voice reached her ears.

“Thomas! So good to see you.”

“Hello, Lizzy. Hello, Richard.”

Elsie crossed the room and reached the entryway in time to see a petite woman, just shy of forty if she was any judge, stretching up to plant a kiss on Thomas’s cheek. She was dressed in a sensible, yet stylish, spring coat and a hat with dark ringlets escaping from under it. This, then, was Lizzy Ellis. 

“I wasn’t certain we’d make it,” Lizzy informed him as he took her coat. “It’s so windy this year! I half expected we’d be blown away.” She lifted the hat, a rather pretty maroon cloche with silk flowers, from her head and handed it to him, trying to smooth down her hair. It had been neatly pinned at one point, probably, but the hat had mussed it slightly, and the curls looked like they fought pinning anyway. Thomas took the hat and hung it above the coat.

“At least it hasn’t brought rain with it,” Thomas noted, then turned to find Elsie standing there. He gave her a small, shy smile. “At any rate, here you are. And may I introduce you to my landlady, Mrs. Hughes.”

Elsie scoffed at the title. “I’m hardly a landlady, Thomas. You don’t pay rent.”

“I would if you asked.” His smile, teasing. “And this is Lizzy Ellis.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hughes.” Lizzy smiled, reaching out her hand in greeting. Now that Elsie saw her full on, she could see where Thomas drew the comparison with Lady Rose. She had a vivacious face with a free, bright smile that readily called to mind the younger woman. She also had large, dark eyes that probably served to make her look younger than she actually was.”Thomas tells us the big house would fall apart without you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Elsie scoffed again, shaking the offered hand. “But it certainly keeps me busy. And I hear you’re opening a millinery shop?” She looked at the hat hanging on its hook. “Is that one of your designs?”

“It is.” The younger woman didn’t quite blush, but she lowered her eyes a bit. “It’s probably a bit fancy for day wear, but as we were walking, I couldn’t resist advertising a bit.”

“It’s shrewd business sense, Lizzy,” Richard offered his opinion, speaking for the first time in Elsie’s hearing. “I saw at least three women look our way while we were walking, and it can’t just have been that we were new in town.”

“Yes it can,” his wife corrected, although she was still smiling. “I just hope it wasn’t.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Thomas promised, stepping over to take Richard’s coat. The way their hands brushed as the garment was handed over was easy to miss, unless you knew to look for it. “People are always curious about new comers, true, but that includes how they dress. I’d wager by the end of the day, you get at least two people who ask you where your hat’s from.”

Although it was clear either the assurance or the flattery, possibly both, appealed to her, Lizzy simply demurred. “Well, we’ll see.”

“Thomas, why don’t you see our guests settled while I get the tea put together?” Elsie suggested. While the conversation was enlightening, she couldn’t see the four of them standing in the entry all day. 

Lizzy gave her a dazzling smile and said, “I’ll help you with that.”

While the offer wasn’t surprising, Elsie still stole a cautious look at Thomas. He’d always seemed quite fond of Richard’s wife, and she didn’t want to upset him by taking her away. “There’s no need. You’re a guest after all.”

“Oh, but I insist.” Putting actions to words, she stepped in closer, waiting for Elsie to lead the way. She turned her smile on the men. “You two get the table ready and we’ll be in shortly.”

“The table’s ready,” Thomas informed her, clearly bemused. “It’s the tea that wants making.”

“Well then sit and talk while Mrs. Hughes and I see to the tea.” 

Sensing that it would be best to get going before the younger woman did something like push the two men into the parlor on her own, Elsie gestured toward the kitchen, indicating that Lizzy should go first. Leaving the men to their own devices, the two of them set about getting the food ready. 

“Would you really have done this all by yourself?” Lizzy asked, curious, as she filled the kettle with water.

“If Thomas had wanted more time to visit with you, then yes.” Elsie set about gathering the ingredients for sandwiches and salad. There wasn’t much outside of watercress and celery for the salad, and hardboiled egg of course, but she figured it would do. Thomas had wanted a tea fit for the family, but Elsie had put her foot down on that much food. They’d have a ham and a bit of garnish on the Victoria sponge that would be fancy enough. There were no cucumbers anyway, so bloater paste sandwiches were the most practical option. 

The observation earned her a chuckle. “Plenty of time to visit with me later. If he’s been half as excited about this whole thing as Richard, he’ll be wanting time to say a proper ‘hello’.”

Elsie gave her a quizzical look. Thomas had always told her that the younger woman was aware of his true relationship to her husband, but she could never quite make herself believe it. “I thought their greeting was perfectly proper. What else is there?”

As if to answer her question, there was a stifled yelp and a laughing protest of “Richard!” from the direction of the entry. Elsie couldn’t guess what had caused it, but it definitely wasn’t a handshake.

Lizzy just looked at her, eyebrows arched for a moment, then giggled. “I’m not sure it’s proper to discuss that in detail. Suffice to say when they relax a little, they can come up with something a bit …fonder…than a handshake.”

Her smile was infectious, but it didn’t answer Elsie’s questions. “And you don’t mind? That is your husband, after all.”

For a moment, the younger woman was silent. She walked over and stood next to Elsie, reaching for some bread and the bloater paste. Finally she said, “There are two pieces of advice I was given when I left for service that I will never forget. The first came from the old widow at the end of our street, Mrs. Barker. She told me that we should always strive to be good and kind, but if we had to choose just one, we should be kind. The other, of course, was to beware men and guard my virtue. I suspect you know that one.”

“Quite well,” Elsie acknowledged as she started chopping the celery. Every maid’s mother told her some version of that speech, and every housekeeper as well, in case a girl didn’t have a mother to do it. She’d repeated it so many times, she could probably still recite it after she died.

“I got it from my mother, my two aunts, my eldest sister, the vicar’s wife, and then, when I reached my first house, the housekeeper, the cook, and the head housemaid.”

“Heavens.” Elsie stared at her. She could understand the cook, if Lizzy had started as a scullery maid, but the head housemaid? And why so many of her female relations? Admittedly some girls could stand to hear it more than others (Ethel Parks sprang to mind), but Lizzy’s list seemed excessive. “Were you more than usually interested in boys when you were younger?” It was the politest way she could think of to ask if the other woman had been terribly fast.

The question earned her a shake of the head. “Not particularly, no. I had two brothers, though, so I was very comfortable talking to them. It was quite disconcerting, suddenly needing to have my guard up against the hall boys and footmen.”

“How old were you?” 

“Twelve,” was the reply. A standard age, although it made her a bit older than Elsie had guessed. “I started as a scullery maid, which means I saw a lot of things that would have shocked Mum, had she known. No surprise that in short order I’d learned there were men I didn’t need to worry about, because they didn’t give a fig about my virtue or any other girl’s. It seemed marvelous to me, at the time, to know that there were men I didn’t need to be afraid of, that I could talk to as if they were anyone.” She frowned, setting the second piece of bread on top of her sandwich and cutting off the crust with perhaps a bit more vigor than necessary. “Of course, when Mum found out she informed me that I was quite wrong and that sort of man should be avoided even more studiously than the other. By that time Richard had to come to work at the same house and we were friends, and Eddie, the other footman, and there was no way I was going to trade their friendship on the strength of morals that made no sense. If I had to choose between being good and being kind, I would be kind.”

Elsie wasn’t certain if that was exactly what Mrs. Barker had meant by her advice, but there again, perhaps it was. Who could tell? Either way, she herself couldn’t help but approve. “Advice well taken.”

“It served me easily as well as the other,” Lizzy shrugged, slicing her sandwich into neat rectangles. “My second house at least half of the male staff were that way, not to mention His Lordship. Those that stood on the moral high ground didn’t stay long. I stayed nearly until the war and would have stayed on longer, except that the family were forced to throw in the towel. I still wrote to to everyone, especially if they wound up in the trenches.”

“I’ve worked at a house or two like that in my time,” Elsie noted, pausing in her salad preparation as the tea water started to boil. “It is quite an experience. I’ve thought a time or two that it’s a pity Thomas wound up here instead of there, although in the end I can’t be too sorry.”

“Ironic at the very least,” the younger woman agreed. She finished trimming her sandwich and put it on the sandwich plate, then started on another. “For me it was a bit of a godsend. At least when the war came along and suddenly Mum went from warning me off men to singing ‘The Old Maid in the Garret’ every time I came home for a visit.”

While she’d not had that exact experience herself, both because she didn’t visit home often and her mother had been perfectly pleased to see her as a housekeeper, it was another tale Elsie was quite familiar with. Still, they’d reached that one point she couldn’t quite grasp. “How so?”

Lizzy stopped her work and turned to watch Elsie warm the pot. It was, in accordance with Thomas’s wishes for a fancy occasion, the good silver one that the Granthams had given her when she and Charlie were married. “I already knew I loved Richard,” she answered, simply enough. “We’d been friends for years by then. I’d been as worried for his life during the war as I had for my brothers’. We actually kissed when he came home, as if we’d been sweet hearts. By then I knew I wanted to be a milliner more than a maid, and he supported me. There had been other men, of course, who I’d found attractive or charming, men who would have made me a proper husband, as society would put it. But I’ve never been the sort who could fall in love at first sight. I have to know a man to love him and somehow I could never trust myself to get to know the usual sort that well. Perhaps it’s because of all the warnings when I was younger. Perhaps it’s simply the way I am. But when Richard joined the royal household and needed to be so desperately careful all of the time, it just seemed the sensible thing to do. To protect him. To get Mum off of my back. All of it.” She shrugged.

“And you’ve never wanted children?” It was the last objection Elsie could find to the setup. Oh, there was the off chance that the younger woman would, some day, meet another man that she could know and love and have the usual sort of relationship with, but the way she explained things that felt really rather remote.

Laughing, Lizzy turned the question around on her. “Have you?”

Elsie thought about it as she poured hot water over the tea leaves. There was something about the idea of having children that appealed to her. If she and Charlie had, say, met and married when they were much younger, they could have had children. Those children would be grown now and could come and visit. It was nice to imagine them, but she was self aware enough to acknowledge that these fantasies did not involve pregnancy, child rearing, childhood illness, or any of the other burdens that accompanied parenthood. Also, neither of these imagined children was like her sister. If she thought about the reality of having children, then no, she would stick to being a housekeeper, thank you very much. And really, she’d done as much to raise some of the young people who had served under her as their parents. She thought of all the girls who had come to work with her over the years. Some had been from good, loving families, but others had been orphans, taken in by relatives from a sense of duty, or the middle child of seven with parents desperate for one less mouth to feed. Even outside of her direct care, there had been homesick footmen, like William Mason, and trouble makers like Thomas, eager for any attention at all. Officially they were the butler’s concern, of course, but that didn’t mean she’d not done her part. 

Meeting Lizzy’s eye, she smiled. “I think I’ve raised enough young people in my life time. And I’ve not had to change nappies!”

Laughing all the harder, the younger woman turned back to making the sandwiches. Elsie saw to the tea and the two worked in companionable silence, until it was time to take the food out. As Elsie fetched the milk jug out of the ice box to fill the creamer, there came the pattering of feet and a perfunctory ‘meow’ as Petunia came down the stairs and into the room, her tail a question mark behind her. “There you are, miss. I was expecting you when we were making the sandwiches.”

“This must be Petunia,” Lizzy smiled, reaching down and offering her hand. Petunia looked at it, then ignored her in favor of dancing around Elsie’s feet.

“Indeed, Her Royal Majesty herself. Queen of the household.” Elsie teased, but also fetched down a small saucer and poured some milk into it, putting it down for the cat. Petunia purred as she lapped at her treat. 

“You’re very pretty, Your Majesty,” Lizzy informed her, apparently not at all offended by the cat’s cold shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll talk Richard into getting a cat for the shop. Help keep the mice out.”

“It’s not a bad idea. And if you need help finding one, all you need do is wait and you can have the pick of this one’s litter. I’m sure she’ll have another.” With a fond smile for the cat, Elsie turned and walked into the parlor. Richard and Thomas were sitting on the sofa, almost a respectable distance apart, talking in voices that were barely above a whisper. Thomas, seated so that he could see the entry to the kitchen, looked up at her arrival. “The food is ready.”

Thomas stood promptly. “I’ll get it.”

“I’ll help,” Richard, a hair’s breadth behind him in standing, volunteered.

“That’s not necessary.”

Elsie felt her earlier conversation with Lizzy start to play out again before her eyes. Before it could go too far, she folded her hands in front of her and primly teased, “You know, Thomas, if this were an affair for the family, the ladies would be seated before any food arrived.”

Thomas stopped, flat footed for a second, then grinned and ducked his head. “Of course. How silly of me.” He glanced at Richard. “Would you like to see the ladies seated while I get the food?”

The other man made a bit of a production of thinking it over, although his playful smirk belied his hesitation. Finally, with a show of reluctance, he replied, “I suppose it makes most sense for us to divide the labor.”

With a parting grin, Thomas disappeared into the kitchen. Richard bowed Elsie and Lizzy to the table, already set with the table cloth and dishes, and politely pushed their chairs in for them as they sat, Elsie first. Then, despite the other man’s earlier protests, he vanished into the kitchen to help Thomas. There was a bit of a wait, presumably while they argued a bit more, probably over who was carrying what, and then they reappeared, Thomas first with the ham, Richard right behind with the salad. They played up the role of footmen, the game spoiled only by the fact they were both smiling in a manner most unbecoming a servant, and soon the table was laid out with the whole tea. The cake sat on its stand in the middle, surrounded by the salad, the sliced ham, and the sandwiches.

“This looks wonderful,” Lizzy smiled, then glanced at Thomas. “Will we be serving ourselves?” 

Thomas managed to look affronted. “Of course not. What shall I get for you?” 

“So, Mr. Ellis,” Elsie asked once the food was served, “What are you going to be doing with your time while your wife is making her lovely hats?” 

She had impeccable timing; he’d just taken a bite of ham. After he’d swallowed he replied, “I’ll be helping to run the business side of things. Placing orders, receiving shipments, keeping the books. All of that. Of course, we’ll also have a shop boy to help keep things tidy and run the register, Thomas has seen to that.”

Thomas preened just a little under the acknowledgment. 

“Oh? And who have you recommended?”

“Jack Phinney,” was the prompt reply. “Albert’s friend. He’s been getting tired of working on his father’s farm.”

“What luck,” Elsie smiled, a knowing yet proud smile. In the back of her head a snippet of old conversation played. Men like us need to stick together. “And so good of you to make the arrangements.” There was that preening again, hidden under a modest protest that anyone would have done the same. “Will Mr. Phinney be staying on the farm, or sleeping in the shop?”

“Staying on the farm, for now,” Richard replied, slicing himself another forkful of ham. “Although I suppose if he finds it too cramped, we could rent him the attic.” He gave Lizzy a questioning look.

“It’s a thought,” she shrugged.

Elsie was fairly certain that the flat over what would be the Ellises’ millinery shop had two bedrooms. She inferred, both from what was said and a quick look from Richard to Thomas that she almost missed, that they’d both be in use. Another thought ran through her head. “You know, Thomas, if the worst should ever happen and the family should have to downsize, you could go and help run the business as well.”

“Me?” Thomas froze, fork halfway to his mouth. The ill disguised pride was replaced by shock and, quickly, a mild nervousness. “I don’t know that it would a good idea. I’ve no head for business.”

Elsie set down her own fork, bewildered by the reply. “No head for it? How would you know that? You’ve never tried.”

“I did, actually. That one time. After the war. Thought the whole house knew,” Thomas muttered, then shoved the forkful of salad into his mouth as if to stop any more words from coming out.

At first, Elsie didn’t know what he was talking about. It took her a minute to remember the black market debacle and her eyes rolled. “I hardly think one failed business venture when you were still south of thirty is really a fair reflection of your current abilities! No, not even that failure.” The Ellises were both looking rather intrigued by the conversation, but Elsie didn’t think Thomas would want to go in depth at the table, so she steered the conversation away quickly. “You’d never been more than a footman back then. Well, a soldier, yes, but that hardly counts, even if you did help run the convalescence home. Now you’ve been a butler for ten years, and an under butler before that.”

Thomas, having finished his mouthful while she was talking, looked skeptical. He swallowed, then asked, “What’s that to do with running a business?”

Lizzy almost choked on her tea while Elsie and Richard both stared. “What’s that to do with running a business?” Elsie echoed, half tempted to ask if he was joking, even though she could tell from his expression that it wasn’t. “Why, if it weren’t for the family being the last word on how the money’s spent, that’s exactly what you’d be doing! You do the books, don’t you?”

“Not for rent,” Thomas replied, shifting uncomfortably.

“Not for that, obviously, but for keeping track of the supplies, especially the wine, and keeping track of how much has been spent.”

“And you oversee the deliveries,” Lizzy chimed in. Richard continued to simply look bemused. “And make certain they’re correct.”

“And you oversee the staff, which is important if there’s a shop boy.”

“Not to mention arranging special occasions.”

“Elsie does most of that,” Thomas protested, looking utterly lost by this point. 

“We do it together. I couldn’t manage it without you anymore than you’d do without me.”

“I suppose if you say so,” Thomas muttered, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and took a sip of his tea. He still didn’t sound at all convinced.

Elsie sighed and met Lizzy’s eye across the table. “Men.”

“Men,” the younger woman agreed.

Something small and roundish bumped against Elsie’s leg, followed by a purring trill. Elsie looked down at the cat begging at her feet. “That’s right, Petunia. Men.”

“Hey, no fair getting the cat to gang up on us!” Thomas protested, apparently deciding that since Richard was also a man, he was included in the women’s exasperation.

“Right,” Richard nodded, helping himself to a sandwich and digging a little bit of the bloater paste out with the tip of his finger. “That isn’t what she was saying at all, was it Petunia?” He held his finger down and the cat went running over to clean the paste off.

“Richard! Don’t spoil her!” Lizzy scolded.

“What she was saying,” her husband continued, unperturbed, “Is that Thomas underestimates himself.” He looked across the table, a twinkle in his eye and a fond smile on his lips. “So he needs help appreciating his own value. That’s all.”

Elsie had seen Thomas blush before, but never quite like this. The colour spread across his cheeks and ears and crept down his neck. His mouth worked, taking a couple of futile efforts at speech before he dropped his eyes and pushed his food around his plate. “Great, so now you’re all ganging up on me.”

“Not ganging up on you,” Richard corrected over the women’s sounds of soothing protest. “Telling you what we see when we look at you.”

Thomas didn’t raise his eyes from his food. It was impossible to make out his mumbled reply. But Elsie saw the corners of his mouth trying to pull up into a smile, despite his obvious embarrassment. Taking pity on him, and not wanting to spoil the occasion, she changed the subject. “Are you going to sell anything beyond hats?”

“A few things,” Lizzy nodded. “Gloves and other little things that make up a woman’s wardrobe. Those will all be ordered in, though. The hats are the only thing I’ll do myself.”

Richard slid his hand under the table, although not without Elsie noticing the sliver of ham in his fingers. He really was going to spoil the cat. “And we might branch out, if business is good enough. Carry a few things for the men as well.”

“Would they come in if they weren’t shopping for their wives? Or with them, for that matter?” Elsie wondered.

Still not meeting anyone’s eye, Thomas offered, “If they were in there with their wives, they might pick up a pair of gloves if they were on offer. Save time going someplace else.”

“Precisely,” Richard agreed, giving the other man one of those fond smiles. Thomas missed it, but it showed in his voice. “And being a valet, you learn what sorts of things might draw attention, so it will put my skills to use.”

At that, Thomas looked up, tentatively. Elsie took a sip of tea to cover her own smile, thinking it a nice gesture on Richard’s part to remind Thomas that they were both coming from a similar place. She almost pointed out that, as butler, Thomas had always outranked the other man and, on this topic, was far more qualified, but she decided not to push. He was a grown man, he didn’t need her mothering him.

Elsie caught sight of her reflection in the side of the teapot. It rippled and distorted, smoothing out the wrinkles on her face, but making all of her hair seem grey. She remembered pulling it from its box, and the look of immense pleasure on Charlie’s face, as if the family had chosen it for him, not her. Then again, if Lady Mary were involved, maybe they had. She smiled at the memory, at the familiar ache, now dulled with time, associated with her loss. Looking around the table, only mostly following the conversation, she thought he wouldn’t have approved of it all, not in the least. She couldn’t mind, though. One day she would be gone as well. It was simply the way of things. But there would be Richard and LIzzy and Thomas would still have a family, and that was what mattered, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments! If anyone spots anything I've done wrong, please feel free to point it out in the comments. The great thing about Ao3 is that it has an edit function.


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